The Boneyard
by Senri
Summary: A collection of short drabbles. Number two: Squee and Pepito and animals.
1. Feed Me

What Squee wants the most are _stories_: the beginnings, the ends, all the stuff in between. He is sharply aware of not being very good at life so he'd like to study the lives of others and see if he could get better through imitation.

Most people don't tell him things. A little boy with the most omnivorous, voracious eyes since Harry Potter usually flies right under everyone's radar. The best stories he gets are from Johnny, from Pepito; a homicidal maniac and the Antichrist. They're _horrible_ ones, about smiting and writhing sinners and enormous tapeworms that lodge in the guts of small children and suck all their juices out and the economy of Hell and the end of the world via MTV and carbonated beverages but when you're starving you take what you can get. Nny especially likes to tell him things: he sits at the foot of the bed, a gaunt, hollowed scarecrow man, and pours out the words. None of the stories have happy endings but Squee is intensely aware that he probably won't have a happy ending either, no matter how hard he tries. And at night, on the edge of being asleep, drinking the tales in... it doesn't matter so much. It's just good to know he's not alone.


	2. Hold Fast

Squee went stamping into to the mud when he heard the bag mewing. He worked his fingers into the ragged burlap and tore it loose frantically; it was so well-caught that he sank up to the ankles in the mucky riverbed before he managed to get it free. He sloshed to the shore with muck and water squidging in his ragged sneakers, where Pepito slouched with his hands in his pockets. "Whatcha got?" he asked, grinning, and then snapped a closer look at the bag when he heard the weak cries coming from it. "Oh. Kitties, huh?"

The other boy set the bag down carefully on the bank, grimacing at his soaked shirt. "Get it open!" he demanded. "Some of them are still alive..."

"I can hear that, yeah," Pepito retorted, but he did crouch down to split the bag open with his claws. Small bodies tumbled out, five in all, young kittens with their fur soaked down to the skin and their eyes barely open. Three were dead, drowned and silent. Two kicked and scrabbled weakly in the dirt, alive for now at least. Pepito picked one of them up idly, tucking it into the crook of his elbow and holding it close to his skin. Body heat; of course. The Antichrist always had a surplus of that. Squee picked up the other kitten, a fuzzy tabby, and held it close to his chest. He watched Pepito's treatment of the other animal nervously- heas so erratic around humans, dooming them or just ignoring them depending on his whims. Squee didn't entirely trust him with a small, innocent animal like this, although he wouldn't be able to do much if Pepito decided to eat it or something. It seemed that his reservations were misplaced, though; the other boy was stroking the kitten, scratching it between the ears, prompting it to start a surprisingly loud and rumbling purr. Its fur was already almost dry. Pepito gave out such a lot of body heat that things around him warmed up quickly. Squee checked on his own kitten and found it slightly damper but still alive; he turned it over to rub at its pale belly and check its gender. A female.

"Wanna trade?" Pepito asked him abruptly. "Mine's dry, that one is still wet." Awkwardly Squee nodded and passed the little tabby over, receiving the other kitten in return. He watched Pepito cosset the other feline as discreetly as he could, burying his fingertips in the cat's fluffy fur.

Apparently he wasn't careful enough, because the Antichrist noticed him watching and flashed a very large, fanged smile. "Animals don't have souls," he explained. "Your God decided they weren't important enough to get them. Once they die in this life they're just gone, so it's important to make sure that they have happy lives while they're here." Pepito looked down at the little animal, scratched it under the chin. "Your kind forgets that sometimes. The whole species is a waste." He looked up slyly at Squee, gave him a smile that this time was sly and ingratiating. "Present company excepted, of course. So you're sure you won't reconsider this time...?"

Squee looked down at the cat with a sinking feeling. "No," he said. His voice had a little quaver in it that he hated. "Not yet."

"Ah," Pepito sighed, sounding disappointed. "Well, that's fine, I suppose. I have all the time in the world."

END

_I wish I remember when I wrote this._


End file.
